Friends, Seattleites, Pac NW Countrymen, lend me your ears!
… Today kinda sucks, huh?
For some of us, this pain is not new. It’s one we’ve come to know well. We were there when Hasselbeck won the coin toss in the wildcard game in 2003, when he bravely said we were going to score, and instead was intercepted. We pounded on the ground so furiously when we beat the Cowboys in the playoffs in 2007, that our downstairs neighbors complained.
We felt so wronged in the Super Bowl in 2006, we can barely talk about it.
The pain extends back into our childhoods, but there are fewer memories to cull from. We vaguely recall being ridiculed on the schoolyard for our affinities.
“SEAHAWKS SUCK!” was the general taunt, which gains a few points for alliteration, but loses even more for lack of creativity.
This pain is not new to us.
But for some of you, it is.
I’m here to help. Because I know that there is nothing quite like the pain of a Super Bowl loss. Except for maybe a jarring, sudden, and seemingly avoidable Super Bowl loss.
The only thing worse than that? A Super Bowl loss to Bill “I tried out for the part of Emperor Palpatine but was too deemed creepy” Belichick and Tom Brady, human-Ken-doll.
And now you, dear friends, are experiencing the hat trick of all three. I’ve composed a small list that will help you deal with your extreme, suffocating, soul-consuming devastation.
It’s not as selfless as it seems. I’m hoping that if I keep reading it, it will put things in perspective for me, too. Maybe.
- Stop asking “What if?” What if Wilson had handed the ball to Marshawn? What if the pass had been caught? This will get you nowhere, and only drive you crazy. Some improbable things go against you. Some go your way. What if your parents never met? What if another sperm had beat out the one that eventually made you, and you in your present incarnation NEVER EXISTED? What if we peed out of our nostrils?THESE ARE NOT QUESTIONS TO BE ASKED. Forget about what if. Just accept what is.
- Somewhere, you have at least one friend who is happy that their team won, and they aren’t being a total dickbag about it. So that’s kind of nice. You should buy that him or her a drink. When the pain blows over. In, like, 20 years.
- Avoid trash talking fans or cities. It won’t make you feel better, and will only bring more pain unto yourself. Remember: we’re not really in a place to talk shit right now. Players are fair game, however, as are coaches. That’s why we can bring up that Tom Brady cheated on his pregnant movie star girlfriend when she was 8 1/2 months pregnant, despite having only a molded plastic lump for genitalia.
- Remember: you are NOT alone. There’s something to be said about there being strength in numbers. Today, the entire city is collectively weeping into our $9 organically grown flat whites. My husband is a Packers fan. Do you know what it was like for him 2 weeks ago? Imagine being in Boston last night. Yeah.
- There are at least 53 guys (55 if you count the head coach and the GM, and I think we can) who feel worse than you right now. Teams are risking their fucking lives (and probably shortening them) to play the game. Let’s keep things in perspective.
- Now’s a great time to weed out the assholes in your life and your social media. There’s nothing like having your team suffer an immense, excruciating loss to see who’s a sore loser, and perhaps worse than even that, who is a sore winner. Block them, unfriend them, write them out of the will, or cut them out of your wedding photos (if they are the bride or groom, just paste Russell Wilson’s face over theirs).
- We won last year. That means we made it to the fucking Super Bowl THE YEAR AFTER WE WON THE SUPERBOWL. This was a rebuilding year. THIS IS WHAT WE DID IN A REBUILDING YEAR. If trends continue, that means that by this time next year, we’ll be ruling the entire NFL and most of the free-speaking world. We’ll takeover half of Canada and the entire Western seaboard and name it SEAHAWKLANDIA (or maybe Land of L.O.B.? I don’t know. I haven’t entirely thought this through.) I won’t tell you what to do when we’re in charge of everything, but consider being benevolent and kind despots to 49ers fans, okay?
- Don’t forget: it’s early. Our quarterback is 26. He is 11 years younger than Brady (though they look about the same age, because botox isn’t considered a PED). He is allowed to make mistakes. He has time to grow. And he’s never cheated on his immensely pregnant girlfriend with a supermodel. But he does go to Seattle Children’s Hospital. Every. Fucking. Week. He’s someone we can be proud of.
- “At least we’re not (insert team name here).” Look, one team is ahead of us, and their squishy balls might be to blame, as well as a coach with the charisma of sea cucumber. And we’re ahead of 30 teams, because of Beast Mode, the L.O.B., and a QB who is just so fucking sweet he might have given me a cavity.
- Pete Carroll seems like a genuinely good guy. He’s obviously not perfect, and there’s some NCAA stuff that’s iffy in his past, but he’s also never said a bad thing about a player, ever. Belichick, I shit you not, kidnapped the first born children of many of his starters, as well as a bunch of their new puppies, and grunted that they would be returned upon receiving the Lombardi trophy. As of 9:30am PST, the children have been returned. 3 of the puppies remain missing. (Unsubstantiated rumor: Belichick was seen wearing a bib with a puppy emblazoned on the front sometime last night.)
- It is okay to cry. This became an unofficial rule in my house after I wailed for a good 20 minutes over our 2012 elimination from the playoffs: you can cry once a season (more than that is negotiable based on need or age). Tears are not to be ridiculed in any way. Hell, we don’t even need to fucking talk about it. You’re crying, okay? NO BIG DEAL. You like football and you’re sensitive. It’s not your fault you are well-rounded and in touch with your emotions in a world that isn’t. Try to keep it under 20 minutes, though (for practicality’s sake).
- The Patriots are legitimate cheaters. Even if you put aside Deflate-Gate for a moment (BUT WHY SHOULD WE?) they still have Spygate. Belichick’s history will be tainted. Whatever wins they have will be accompanied by an asterisk. Whatever wins we have will be accompanied by Skittles and microbrews.
I know it stings right now, but I promise: it will go away. It’ll take time. But soon enough, things will return to normal. Marshawn will continue to be taciturn. Wilson will continue to be a total mensch. Belichick will return to the bridge under which he lives, demanding a toll from people who attempt to cross it while sipping puppy blood from a goblet. And Tom Brady will continue to press his crotch against his wife’s in a feeble attempt to engage in sexual intercourse, despite his not having a winky.
And it’ll probably rain here in Seattle. But if we wait it out long enough, we’ll see sun. And we’ll remember why we never want to be anywhere else, and why we’ll never root for anyone else.
But in the meantime, I’ll be doing this: